


is your armour thin again

by la_victorienne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_victorienne/pseuds/la_victorienne
Summary: And Arthur’s ankles are brushing his under the table, and he looks happier than Eames has seen him in any photograph ever, and he did that, Eames made him smile like that, and oh, god, he’s on a date with Campbell Arthur and it’s amazing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not be the porny coda to the actor!Arthur, young!Eames fic I wrote ages ago.

They go to a little Italian place in Soho, because Arthur says he lives nearby and Eames has eaten there before. It’s quiet, and private, and moderately priced--a detail that makes Arthur genuinely laugh, when they sit down, and immediately order wine and appetizers. Eames vehemently denies having chosen it on purpose, but he has been helpless before Arthur’s charms onscreen for years, and he can’t keep from blushing for very long at all. Fortunately, Arthur only smiles again, the pursuit of which Eames finds immensely satisfying. And Arthur’s ankles are brushing his under the table, and he looks happier than Eames has seen him in any photograph ever, and _he_ did that, _Eames_ made him smile like that, and oh, god, he’s on a date with Campbell Arthur and it’s _amazing_.

He takes a large swallow of wine, and drinks his entire small glass of water, because what the hell else is he supposed to do? Arthur looks at him curiously over the table, and nudges Eames’ foot. “Hey. Relax. I haven’t run screaming from the room yet. I think it’s safe to say I won’t now--at least not until dinner’s over.”

And he’s smiling again. And Eames really would do unspeakable things for that smile. And there’s nothing else to do but nudge Arthur back, and shrug his shoulders, and say “I guess I’m finally a little star struck.”

Arthur laughs again. “Now? You couldn’t have picked before I stuck my tongue in your mouth?”

Eames shrugs once more. “I must just take more than the average idiot.”

Arthur’s eyes flash dark so quickly Eames isn’t sure he saw it or not. “Do you, now,” Arthur murmurs.

Suddenly, Eames realizes it’s only ever been marginally about dinner anyway. He lifts his glass and smiles like he’s pretending he didn’t hear it, making sure their legs never stop touching under the table. The food comes, and they fall into a conversation about Shakespeare because they’re pretentious assholes, and okay, maybe it’s partly about dinner, but it’s also partly about the way Arthur keeps staring at his mouth.

“Let’s skip dessert,” he suggests.

This time, the flash of want in Arthur’s eyes is unmistakeable.

 

 

 

 

Eames finds himself on the five-pence tour of Arthur’s apartment--quick, and small, and utterly useless. Not that he really minds when it leaves him pressed against the wall, Arthur’s thigh warm between his own, the hard line of his cock fitting into the jut of Eames’ hips. Arthur’s moved own to his neck, hell-bent on marking his kiss into Eames’ skin, branding him, and Eames throws his head back and laughs, delighted.

Arthur pulls back, eyes narrowed. “Something amuses you.”

Eames swallows--Arthur’s lips are wet and red, and he wants nothing more than to get them back on his skin as quickly as possible. He draws a breath, sliding a hand around Arthur’s hip. “No, it’s--nothing. Just that my inner teenager has wet his pants already. This? Not exactly a new fantasy for me.” He flicks his gaze down to Arthur’s mouth, then back up. “Does that, uh. Bother you?” He shifts his weight on his feet, feeling a trifle awkward, and looks down.

Arthur raises a careful hand, lifts his chin. “Surprisingly, no,” he says softly, pressing in close for a long, wet kiss. “I’m flattered,” he murmurs, licking at Eames’ pulse point. “And interested,” he continues, fisting a hand in Eames’ hair. “And completely, utterly turned on, right now, so--” he pauses to lick into Eames’ clavicle and pull back, eyes, dark-- “I expect you naked in my bed in sixty seconds, starting now.”

Eames has never moved so quickly in his life.

Arthur takes his time, peeling layers off one by one, hanging them over the back of the armchair. Eames, strangely, has stopped being nervous--watching the man he’s idolized for years take off his clothes is made a thousand times less awkward by the way Arthur is still looking at him, dark and wanting. Eames spreads his knees on Arthur’s enormous bed, and licks his lips.

And there Arthur is, climbing onto the bed to lay his body over Eames, sliding up skin to skin, sucking in a breath and then on Eames’ tongue as their cocks slide together. There’s warmth building in Eames’ belly and two slick, slender fingers teasing behind his balls and yes, this is what Eames wanted, this is what he’s dreamed of, and fuck, he’s so lucky, and fuck, that’s three fingers, and-- “Christ, just--please, darling, fuck me, I want you.”

Arthur bites down on Eames’ collarbone as he slides in, splitting Eames open, filling him completely, and if this is what a one-night stand with Campbell Arthur feels like--he can’t even imagine anything beyond this, actually, and swears colourfully as Arthur rests, fully inside him. He reaches up, pulls Arthur’s mouth to his own, and rolls his hips--damned if he’s not going to tell this story for the rest of his life, he wants it to be something even Arthur will remember. Arthur bites down on his lower lip and picks up speed, their bodies meeting and releasing in a rhythm that leaves Eames’ muscles screaming for relief. Fuck, it’s good. It’s the best Eames has ever had. He licks into Arthur’s mouth and tries not to think about how much it’s going to suck to have to go.

Arthur sits back on his heels, one hand on Eames’ cock and the other pressing bruises into Eames’ hipbone as he fucks in with abandon. Eames can feel the edge of the cliff approaching, knows he’s about to drop off into incoherency, but it seems so much more important to memorize the pattern of Arthur’s flush on his chest as he finally tips his head back and comes, tugging at Eames in counterpoint.

In the end, he’ll never be sure what makes him come harder--watching Arthur fall to pieces inside of him, or the way he breathes out “fuck, _Eames_ ,” as he does. Whatever it is, it sends him careening over the edge so fast it makes his head spin, gasping and swearing as Arthur’s arms come around to bracket him, his head coming to rest in the curve of Eames’ neck.

For a few moments, they just lie there, catching their breath, sweat and come cooling between them. Eventually, though, Eames clears his throat. “Darling? If you want me to, uh, leave. You’ll have to, er--move.”

It’s the least awkward way he can think of to give Arthur the out, let Eames slip away in the night so no-one will see. Instead, Arthur lifts his head and frowns. “I’ll pull out,” he finally says. “But if you think you’re leaving before sunrise you’re woefully mistaken.” He shifts, ties off the condom, tosses it in the bin, and settles right back down in Eames’ arms, looking younger than Eames has ever seen him. “Go to sleep, Eames,” he mumbles, his breath evening faster than Eames expected, from a man usually so well guarded.

Eames stares down at Arthur for a long, long while, wondering if anything will ever feel as good as this again.

 

 

 

 

He wakes again as the first rays of sunlight start to brighten the room, unused to a body next to him, the possessive sprawl of Arthur’s limbs over his. He eases out of the embrace quietly and moves to collect his things--it is sunrise, after all.

Behind him, though, Arthur stirs.

“Wha--?” he asks muzzily, looking around. “Eames? Time is it, the fuck are you doing?”

Eames freezes, turns around slowly. “It was--I’m--it’s been a dream come true keeping you company, love--but I’ve probably overstayed my welcome. There’s a bus, I’ll--catch it home.”

Arthur, strangely, doesn’t roll over and wave him out the door. Instead, he frowns and sits up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “But I don’t have your number yet. I don’t want to have to hunt you down to see you again.”

Eames feels for a moment like he did when Arthur’s eyes met his on Waterloo Bridge, just days ago--like the world has dropped out from underneath him, and he’s just about to fall with it. “You--what?” he finally manages, through the cotton wool in his brain. “You--want to see me again?”

Arthur frowns even deeper, if that’s possible. “I thought that was obvious. I don’t just fall asleep next to anyone, don’t be ridiculous. Come back to bed, Eames. I’ll take you back to your place later, if you want, but for now, just--come back to bed.”

He’d be an idiot to walk away now, he thinks, with Campbell Arthur telling him to come back to bed, still naked. “Okay,” he says, laying his clothes on the chair next to Arthur’s. “Okay.”

Arthur nods. “Good.” He holds open the duvet as Eames climbs in and drops a kiss on his mouth. “I’m not even remotely through with you, yet,” Arthur says against his lips, curling back up and closing his eyes.

This time Eames falls asleep in minutes. Maybe, this time, he’s finally where he belongs. 


End file.
